The Pursued.

You never think it’ll happen to you… until it does.

Pine needles pierce my swollen feet as I race through the forest maze. I see my breath roll out in front of me, condensing in the bitter winter frost. My heart is deafening in my ears, and for a moment I am disorientated, the sound of my pursuers concealed by the rapid thumping.

There’s three of them. No, four. I can hear their shouts now, and they bark just the same as the hounds that lead them.

Shit, they’re close. The thick forestry is enough to dampen the sound of my frozen footsteps, but nothing will cover my scent. They thrive too much on the acrid smell of fear for it to go unnoticed… My pace quickens.

Photo by Deglee Degi on Unsplash

I glance back, licking my cracked lips with a dry tongue. My foot buckles beneath me as it catches on a small pile of rock and dirt, and I collapse deadweight into a nearby tree. Falling forwards, I grasp desperately at the thicker branches, using its solid bark to steady me. Splinters invade my hands, and the branches tear at my clothes, but there is no real time to be concerned about this. I summon my strength and push off hard. My feet resume their rhythm.

Red streaks litter the sky, like bloody veins on pale skin, signalling the near coming of morning. I won’t have the advantage of darkness to hide me for much longer.

Then from the right, I feel the first slamming on my aching body. Hot pain pulses through my forearm, and I feel the force of practiced teeth piercing my soft flesh. With quickly blurring vision, my feet falter and slow. It grips me tight, demanding attention.

I force myself onwards with the mutt still seizing me – this will not be my fate. But my body is weak, and it can no longer hold its own weight, much less drag another along. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth as one more growls close by.

Several pairs of hands descend and push me to the ground, forcing my face into the frozen undergrowth. I kick against them, frantically trying to make contact while blood begins to drip and warm my freezing fingers. Then a click, and a flash of light on polished metal. And my hands are bound.

“Gotcha”, one of them sneers, before launching into some crap about my rights.

The handcuffs pinch my wrists.